Best Mates
by Victorious Ashtree
Summary: Sirius/Peter; one-sided Sirius/James; James Peter; After catching Sirius and Peter together, James can't deny what he feels.


**i**.

This . . . this is pretty fucking wrong.

Unconsciously, James presses closer to the keyhole, and it hurts, the metal against his eye, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care, because there is only the blur of hard, creamy flesh and hands and lips and, fuck, his _friends_ are in there! He shouldn't be looking at this; what the hell is he doing here?

His cock hardens despite this, pressing and pulsing desperately in the confines of his trousers, and, fuck! That was a cock just now, wasn't it? A cock and an arse and, fuck, it's Peter's arse that cock is fucking; sniveling, pudgy little Peter's arse. And the cock, he's sure it's Sirius'; loud, obnoxious, fucked up Sirius's cock. He can tell it's him from the bark-like grunts he gives, the hoarse, almost bitter laughter that smother Peter's wheezes.

Fuck, he really, _really_ should not be here.

But he can't seem to turn away; some sick sort of fascination keeps his feet planted and his eyes opened. And his eyes, his eyes meet a pair of grey ones.

Shit.

Sirius' eyes widen a fraction, but he recovers quickly. A smirk, devilish and challenging and promising plenty of things James does not want to think of, splits Sirius' face. James watches as his friend takes a good handful of blond hair, and he swallows, expecting the worse.

But Sirius only pulls Peter into a kiss, and James feels a tingle run through his fingers whenever he sees their tongues peek out and twist and turn, until Sirius wrenches Peter's head away. Then, he licks his lips (what does Wormy taste like? James wonders), and just looks and James. Looks him straight in the eye, he does, and smirks that smirk.

_Prongs_, he sees Sirius' lips mouth, _I see you, Prongs_.

Fucking Sirius Black. He knows how to play James, knows how to get him. _He knows what James wants most_. And James hates it, hates it so much. But, fuck, if he doesn't fall for it every time.

So, he looks away. He instead watches Peter, Peter who is flushed and loud, clawing at the sheets. "Sirius," he can hear Peter pant, "Fuck, Sirius, I love you."

It's then that James finds his feet able to move. For some reason, what Peter said seems to be worst than anything Sirius can do.

**ii**.

"It's just a bit of sex, mate. What's your problem?"

"I . . . don't approve."

Sirius barks out a short laugh and it sends shivers down James' spine. Bad shivers. James lets Sirius lead him against the wall, however, lets him wrench his left hand to his face.

"What's this?"

"My hand."

Sirius laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Cute. But, I'm talking about this." He flicks the silver band around James' ring finger. "How long have the two of you been engaged, Prongs?"

James swallows. "A month, or so."

"A _month_?"

"Yeah."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"Gran, Grandad, and her parents," James answers instantly, but he is more hesitant when he says, "And Moony and Peter."

"Peter," Sirius repeats thoughtfully. "You told _Peter_ before me?" he says bitterly, dropping his friend's hand. "Why?"

James thinks, avoiding Sirius' eyes. Finally, he mutters, "I'm not sure." And it's true. Why _hadn't_ he told Sirius first? He was his best mate!

Wasn't he?

"You're not sure?"

"No, Pads. I honestly am not sure."

Then, James feels all of Sirius' weight as he presses him against the wall. Lips are against his before he can even gasp.

"Liar," Sirius breathes against his lips, tearing at James robes and hooking his thumbs into his trousers. James grunts, but lets him. He always lets Sirius have his way, doesn't he?

"Not lying," he gasps, working at the placket of his trousers before pushing Sirius down to his knees. He looks down pleadingly at Sirius who smirks as he pulls his prick out of his pants.

"Fine, then. You're not lying." He takes a quick taste of James' prick; James gasps. "But I know what you really want, mate."

"What . . . do I want?"

Sirius smiles, actually _smiles_, and presses a kiss to James' stomach.

"Me."

And James laughs, laughs until it hurts, because he honestly wishes _that_ was the truth.

**iii**.

"I wouldn't touch those, Pete."

James watches as Peter whirls around, eyes wide and bright, before he relaxes.

"Prongs! It's just you! Thought you were your gran for a second. Ball-buster, that one." Peter nicks one of the sausages on a fork and plants himself at the table. He takes a bite, and blanches.

"I warned you," James laughs, taking a seat himself.

"The hell is wrong with these bangers!"

"I made 'em."

"Botched 'em, more like."

James snickers again. "Sorry, mate. But, I warned you."

His friend takes another bite of the botched banger. "Couldn't help it."

"Why?"

Peter smiles sheepishly; he scratches his nose. "To tell you the truth, Prongs, I've got the munchies."

"No! _Again_?" James says, though he isn't honestly angry. "You didn't bring in any skunk, did you, Wormtail?"

"Of course not!" Peter pipes, finishing the banger. "I wouldn't do that to you, mate. Your gran hates me as it is."

James snorts. "You and Sirius both. Bad influences and all."

"Yeah. Hey, Prongs?"

"Hm?"

"I heard you and Evans got engaged."

"Oh. Yeah." James shows him the ring on his finger. Peter leans in to get a closer look.

"Huh. Well, congratulations, mate."

"Thanks."

They sit in a short comfortable silence. Then, "Do you have a special girl?"

"Whut?"

"A girl, Pete. You have one?"

Peter shrugs and grins. "A few here and there, yeah. Nothing serious. I kind of like the bachelor life." They both laugh.

"No girls, huh?" James swallows. "How about blokes, then?"

Peter makes an odd sound in his throat. Had the atmosphere been less awkward, James would have laughed. "Blokes?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not queer, Prongs."

"You don't have to be queer to shag guys, Peter. I mean," James coughs awkwardly. "I mean, I've liked a few guys in my time."

"_I'm not queer, James_."

"I saw you," James growls suddenly, patience suddenly gone. "I saw you and Sirius, Peter. _I saw you_!"

Peter's eyes are wide, hurt. "I don't . . . I don't–"

"You _do_," James hisses, standing abruptly from the table.

"Well – Well, why do _you_ care, Prongs?" Peter says defensively. "I mean, you have Evans, and Moony is . . . well, _Moony_. Why shouldn't Pads and I . . ." He can't seem to finish the sentence; James wonders why.

"I just _do_. It's . . . it's just . . ."

"Just what, Prongs? Just _what_? You just want him, don't you, James? _Don't you_!"

"No!" James whines, "No. It's not–"

"Not _what_?"

"Not him."

The creases between Peter's eyebrows lessen. "W-What?"

And the shit? It hits the fan.

James swallows slightly. "N-Not him. I don't . . . I don't want _him_." He draws closer.

"James . . ." Peter mumbles when James runs a hand through his blond hair. "James, this is . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." His hand runs down Peter's cheek to his chin. He tilts his head up and presses a kiss to his lips. He pulls back and smiles at the flush on Peter's cheeks. "But, I don't know if I care, Peter."


End file.
